January 11, 2017

More for me

Yesterday sucked. Like, eight ways from Sunday. I’m not kidding. The details aren’t important, but basically cleaning up Marley’s diarrhea at 5:30 in the morning was not the worst part of my day. Not by a long shot. It wasn’t even in the worst three things that happened.

There is clearly only one solution when this kind of shit happens. You’ve gotta cream some butter. Like, a lot of butter.

We have this amazing cookbook: The Search for the Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie. There was a contest for the best chocolate chip cookie recipe, and these were all the best recipes. Today called for baking the grand prize winner. While listening to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Loudly.

But even bouncing up and down and singing off-key while measuring out flour couldn’t do it today. It wasn’t enough. So, after I ferried out cookies to the middle school secretary who, mercifully, has just returned from maternity leave to restore order and sanity to the middle school, I stopped at the liquor store to buy bourbon.

And this girl made her first bread pudding.

Now, I believe on principle that Northerners can’t make bread pudding, and I’m a New Englander through and through. Fortunately, I’ve made friends with a few Southerners over the years, and my friend Holly sent me here.

Unfortunately, it turns out my kids don’t like bourbon sauce. While they gladly finished all the cookies, they did not eat the bread pudding. Around here, we call that “more for me!”

I’m going to go up a few pant sizes through this experiment. But I’m taking all the school secretaries with me.

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